His Captive (19 page)
Authors: Diana J. Cosby
The following morning, Alexander opened his eyes and rubbed the sleep away. He stretched, wanting to remain in the welcoming warmth of his bed. After debating late into the night, he and his brothers had plotted out a way to free Wallace, which they would present to their clansmen.
Through the shutters, a dismal gray filled the sky amid the steady patter of rain. The storm had lasted through the night, raging like an angry woman. Somewhere, in the midst of the rumbles of thunder, he’d fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep. He’d witnessed rain like this before, the type that lasted for days soaking everything, including the spirits of those within the castle.
Nichola. He sat up, the distress on her face when he’d left her last night haunting him still. How many times had he damned himself for leaving her banging on the door and calling out his name? Then he remembered the last time he’d left her in such a manner, only to return to find her lost in a peaceful sleep.
That she’d not trusted him had set him on edge. Her accusation of him tricking her to sate his lust had pushed him to the edge. Time alone would do her good to release the anger she hoarded like an old woman would coin. And when she lay spent, she would find in the tangle of emotions, the truth.
She wanted him.
He needed no tricks to bring her to his bed. If his brothers’ hadn’t interrupted them yesterday morning within the forest, she would have already accepted such.
His body hardened at the thought of her lips, of his hands skimming over her silken flesh. Of her moans as she’d soared toward her release.
“God’s teeth!” Alexander shoved up from the bed. The coolness of the morning spread goose bumps over his nakedness. With a grimace he dragged on his trews, linen shirt, and tunic.
He left his chamber to break his fast, but at the turret he paused and stared up the steps. Alexander grimaced. What was he doing softening toward the lass. Wanting her in his bed was one thing, but this stirring in his heart was another. Didn’t Wallace’s abduction show him how much stood between them?
It bloody should.
With a ripe curse, Alexander started up the steps. He’d check on her. No more.
By the time he’d reached the door to her chamber, his mind had dredged up a myriad of questions. Would she be angry still? Or drugged by sleep, would she forgive their heated words of last night and accept him into her bed?
In his mind, he pictured her staring up at him, her eyes misted with sleep, caught up in a blend of innocence and need. With her stubbornness, Nichola wouldn’t forgive so easily. The sensual vision shattered.
Alexander slid the bar from the door, then entered with caution. He half expected her to be hiding behind the door with a broken edge of a chair to bash upon his head.
Instead, she lay curled up in a tight ball on the bed, her face deathly pale. With her eyes glazed, she stared at the shuttered window.
Fear ripped through him. Alexander strode to her side and hunkered down next to her. “Nichola?” Her eyes never wavered, nor did she indicate she was aware of his presence.
What in God’s name had happened last night? He glanced around. A tray of food the servant had brought the evening before lay untouched. Everything seemed in its normal place. Nichola’s pleas not to leave him echoed in his mind. She’d been desperate, but he’d owed that to her being upset at being held prisoner.
He caught sight of her torn gown. Alexander closed his eyes, torn between fury and soul-wrenching regret. God’s teeth, he didn’t want to believe anyone within the castle walls would harm her. He knew these people, had grown up sharing their laughter and grief.
As much as he wished to be convinced otherwise, the scene before him claimed his fear real. Sometime during the night, a man had entered her room and raped her.
Swamped with guilt and aching for the brutality she’d endured, he drew her into a gentle embrace as one would a wounded child. “Nichola?”
A small whimper slipped from her, tormenting him, feeding his guilt, and leaving him to damn himself for the horrors the bloody miscreant had served upon her person. Damn him. He’d vowed to protect her. Whoever dared this outrage would die.
She shuddered, then another frantic whimper tumbled from her lips.
Right now, she was of the utmost importance. He would care for her. Later, he would serve pennance to whoever had dared touch the woman he wanted for his own.
Shaken, Alexander brushed his thumb in a soft caress against her alabaster cheek as he realized that however wrong, he had claimed her as such.
“I am so sorry,” he whispered, the ache in his chest as painful as if crushed by a mace. He kissed her brow, needing to erase the nightmare she must have lived. Blast it. She was a virgin. Her pain at the attacker’s brutality must have been tremendous.
She trembled in his arms.
“Please forgive me,” he whispered.
In answer she shifted her body closer against him, pressing her face against the curve of his neck.
He swallowed hard and smoothed the back of his fingers over her cheek, then curled them under her chin to gently lift her face to meet his.
Gray eyes wounded and filled with horror stared back at him.
Alexander’s guilt grew twofold.
Her lips quivered, and all he could think of was erasing her pain, offering her a remembrance of something good. The vows he’d made of not touching her again or allowing himself to care fell away with total disregard.
She needed him.
And by God’s eyes, he needed her as well.
As much as he wanted her, now was not the time to indulge in his desires. She needed him to offer comfort, and that he would give her.
“Who,” he asked after a long while had passed, his quiet voice trembling with anger. “Tell me the bastard’s name.” And he would slay him with his bare hands.
Confusion slid through her eyes. “Name?”
He must be a fool. Of course she wouldn’t know her attacker’s name. She was a stranger to his home. “Describe the man who entered your chamber last night and dared force himself upon you.”
A frown deepened across her brow. “The man?” Her question fell out in a rough tumble.
He wiped away the tear with his finger, and it pooled on his skin. “Do not be afraid, lass. Whatever threats he made are naught but an empty promise. He will not touch or harm you again. You have my word on that.”
Nichola shook her head as if unsure.
“You have nothing to fear. I swear it.”
“No,” she said, her voice unsteady. She pulled away from him and sat up. “No man entered my chamber last night.”
Alexander heard her words, but he didn’t believe them. Whatever her reasoning, she wouldn’t protect the bastard. Threat or no, by God she’d learn to trust him here and now.
“You will describe him.”
At his demand, her eyes darkened with an almost haunting sadness, a lingering terror. “There was no one.”
When she made to move farther away, he held her fast, his hold gentle. “Please, tell me.”
She stared at him. On an unsteady breath, Nichola began to explain. At times she paused, at others her voice grew thick with emotion as she recounted the tragic nightmare of her parents’ deaths, of her trapment, and of discovering their bodies twisted on the ground below the battered cliff.
As she continued, a budding trust he’d yearned for was plain to see.
“Since then, I have been terrified of thunderstorms,” Nichola quietly confessed. “And locked inside this chamber with last night’s storm—”
“You fell apart,” he finished. And caught up in his own anger, he’d ignored her pleas. Now he understood her unease when they’d stayed overnight in the ruins of the church. Why from the start she’d rebelled against him when he’d imprisoned her within this room.
He rubbed his thumb over the soft swell of her palm. “I am sorry.”
She shook her head. “You did not know.”
He searched her face. “Why did you not tell me?”
“I tried, but you refused to listen . . .”
Her words fell away, but he understood. Her foolish, stubborn, pride hadn’t allowed her to push the issue. “From now on your chamber will be left open.”
Wariness crept into her expression. “You would do that?”
“Aye.” For her, he was realizing, he would do most anything. And considering their situation, that wasn’t good. He released her and stood. Was his desire for Nichola clouding his judgment as Patrik claimed? He couldn’t be sure. To ease his doubts, he would have her promise. “First, I will have your vow not to run.”
That after offering such warmth he would ask for her word hit Nichola like a slap to her face. “You would ask me to sacrifice my pride?” She watched Alexander pull back, not only physically, but emotionally as well.
Her skin tingled where his fingers had touched, the unspoken promises of his tenderness and caring all too clear. Except he would never allow his feelings to go that far.
Nichola hesitated, stunned at what she’d just divulged to Alexander. Whatever had happened between them, he was still her captor. If he saw fit, he could use her confession to destroy her. As if he needed physical torture to gain the upper hand. Yet, already her feelings toward him had exposed her to excruciating pain.
“Nichola?” He watched her, his caution too easy to read. “I will have you swear it.”
Though softly spoken, she heard the underlying command. She stood, her emotions still tainted from her traumatic events of last night, but no less fragile than what this man could do to her if he chose.
And God help her, he could never know the true power he wielded over her.
She remained silent.
Frustration darkened his face at her continued silence. “What I ask of you is simple.”
“No, what you ask is for me to forsake my freedom. I will not barter for what is mine, for you or any man.”
Alexander muttered something about stubbornness and a donkey’s arse. “Your safety is—”
“My safety? This is not about my safety, but your pride and money. Of how it would damage your reputation if I escaped.”
“A lie!”
“Is it? Then tell me, Alexander, explain what I seem to have missed? Are you or are you not ransoming me for coin, whilst sacrificing my reputation as well.”
At his silence, pain wrapped around her heart. She stared at the shutters.
“Please leave,” she said, her voice like stone. “If you find the need, bar the door on your way out.” She met his gaze, the hurt immense. “I would rather you treat me as the prisoner I am than have you alternately comfort then shun me.”
He stepped toward her and caught her shoulders.
Nichola froze. If he kissed her now, with her strength depleted from last night’s upset, she was unsure if she could keep her resolve and not respond.
“Is that your way to solve problems with a woman?” she attacked, before his lips could settle upon hers, claim her as she secretly wished. “To seduce? Or maybe you gain a woman’s cooperation with a smile and bolstered words?” When he hesitated, she plowed forward. “Is not that what the problem is now? Or has that always been the way you handle issues throughout your life—you take the risks, but after, you walk away with no emotions involved?”
When his eyes narrowed, she realized she’d hit the right angle, so she plunged recklessly ahead. “Except this time, I am still here, aren’t I? Aren’t I?” she demanded when he only glared at her. “Why do you not admit it? You are good at everything but the lasting. When it comes to requiring an emotional commitment for you to stay, you walk away.”
She lifted her chin. “Lock the door behind you when you leave, because I for one am satisfied with my lot in life. Though I am a prisoner, once the ransom is paid, I will gain my freedom. But you, you will never achieve more than the smile you wear.”
He released her, his cobalt eyes blackening like a tempest threatening to be unleashed.
Her heart slammed against her chest.
Mary’s will.
She’d pushed him too far.
Mary’s will.
She’d pushed him too far.
Chapter Fourteen
Alexander glared at Nichola. He wanted to deny her charge, but he couldn’t. By the saints, how could she have pinned his motives so accurately when he hadn’t even acknowledged them?
After his father’s death, afraid of allowing another into his heart, he’d volunteered for the most dangerous assaults against the English; taunting death to take him, to pay for his sin of not dying on the battlefield that day so long ago.
When the blades from each battle were secured and the rain had cleansed the land of the blood of the dead and dying, he had hastened to the next challenge.
Never had he wanted to linger in one place.
Until now.
Until Nichola.
Anger flushed her cheeks as she watched him.
However much he wanted her to remain here, she would return to her home. Her people. Her family.
The anger at the confrontation faded. Loneliness burned his throat like charred wood. With his mind steeped in war, he’d believed himself immune from hurt. Now, a woman who should by all rights be his enemy, was tearing his life apart.
“Stay away from me,” he growled, but inside he ached with the need to touch her, to hold her and whisper reassurances. As if he could offer her the “forever” a woman like her needed.
She remained silent.
Alexander turned on his heel and stalked from the room. He slammed the door, then glared at the wooden bar angled against the wall. She wanted trust, by God he’d give her this one freedom, but no more. Alexander strode toward the stairwell. Halfway there, he met Patrik.
“I missed you on the practice field.” Patrik’s eyes slid toward where Nichola’s chamber lay unbarred, then narrowed.
“Not a word,” Alexander warned. Aye, he had erred in almost making love with her, again in allowing her to become important to him when his entire focus should be on Scotland’s freedom. But now his mind was clear.
Patrik turned and followed him into the turret. “We should receive the ransom any day,” he said casually.
“A day you will raise your goblet in toast to.” He damned the bitterness crawling through his voice.
“Whatever your feelings for her, she will not interfere with our cause. Once the ransom is paid, she will be returned.”
At the warning edge to his brother’s voice, Alexander halted. Fragments of torchlight from a nearby wall sconce highlighted Patrik’s harsh expression.
“Do not threaten me.”
“And do not forget the reason she is here.”
Alexander drew up to his full height. “Dare you question my loyalties yet again?”
“Should I?”
Alexander’s hand shot out and caught the collar of his tunic. “Were you not my brother, I would kill you for such a remark.” He shoved him back, turned on his heel and stormed down the stairs.
The angry slap of Patrik’s boots echoed in his wake as he hurried to catch up to him. “Alexander.”
He ignored Patrik’s fury, unsettled by a realization he should have thought of before. If Patrik saw Nichola as a threat, their close community would have seen Alexander’s interest in her and believe the same.
By God’s eyes!
He’d been nothing but noble to Scotland.
Soon the ransom would be paid and Nichola would be out of his life. A fact that would give her great pleasure.
He exited the keep, ignoring the sounds of Patrik’s rage in his wake. He headed toward the atilliator’s hut, desperately needing to lose himself in the exacting work of crafting crossbows. To not think of the empty days ahead of him.
He grimaced. He was acting like a love-sick fool, but falling in love with Nichola would be the ultimate betrayal to his father. Loving an Englishwoman went against everything he held holy, it violated the trust his family put in him to free Scotland from England’s tyranny. No, he didn’t love her, he wanted her in his bed.
“Alexander!” Patrik yelled from behind him. “Damn you, face me!”
He whirled, planting his feet in readiness for Patrik’s attack. Aye, he welcomed a fight, anything that would release the unceasing torment and restore them to equal terms. Nichola’s presence was not only dividing his loyalties, but causing strife between him and his brothers. With Edward’s troops marching north, they couldn’t risk any division.
His face raw with anger, Patrik stalked toward him.
“A rider approaches,” the tower guard yelled.
He and Patrik froze. Muttering a curse, Alexander turned with his brother to look through the gatehouse entry. In the field across the loch, a distant figure rode at a rapid clip. As the rider galloped up the narrow road to the Lochshire Castle, Alexander noted that the man wore his brother’s colors. Then he recognized the knight.
The lust for a fight drained away. He dropped his hands by his side. It was the runner they’d sent to retrieve Nichola’s ransom. ’Twould seem his time with Nichola had indeed run out. This day, Nichola would have her wish. As would Patrik.
He shot his brother a withering glare.
Satisfaction settled within the angry lines on Patrik’s face as he strode up to him. “The ransom has arrived.”
And Nichola would depart.
Patrik’s silent taunt echoed between them.
Alexander ached to wipe away the smug look on his brother’s face. By God, after they’d almost come to fists over Nichola in the turret, whatever it took, he’d ensure ’twould not be Patrik escorting Nichola home.
Seathan’s man rode under the gatehouse. The hoofbeats echoed off the curved stone like an executioner’s drum.
With leaden steps, Alexander walked alongside Patrik toward the rider as he cantered into the courtyard. He noted Seathan and Duncan coming from the armory as well.
The runner pulled up his horse before Seathan. “My lord.” He dismounted, his breath heaving, his mount lathered.
A stable lad ran up and took his mount away.
Alexander and Patrik halted by their brothers’ sides.
“You have brought the ransom?” Seathan asked as he reached for the leather pouch hanging from his mount.
“No, my lord.” The runner shook his head. “The Baron of Monceaux—is dead.”
“Dead?” The brothers said in unison.
Alexander glanced toward Seathan, but already his thoughts went to Nichola. The news would devastate her.
“How?” Seathan demanded.
“It is said he came to blows while out gaming.” The messenger shook his head. “I could glean naught more without raising suspicion.”
Anger clouded Seathan’s face. “The details matter little. With the Baron of Monceaux dead, our plans for a ransom have come to naught.”
Seathan’s rough claim reached Nichola. Her brother was dead. The air around her spun, her body trembled. The world blackened, but she felt only pain. Hard. Hot. Ripping through her until she staggered back against the wall of the keep.
She sagged against the stone wall, fighting for sanity when everything in her life had eroded to chaos.
She stared at the men gathered before the runner. Upset from her discussion with Alexander, she’d sought to escape the confines of her chamber. But as she’d walked from the entrance to the keep, she hadn’t anticipated the runner’s arrival or his shocking news.
Griffin was dead.
The words clattered through her brain, robbing her of thought and tearing out her heart. Though their relationship had degraded over the past year, it hadn’t diminished her love for him.
Now he was gone. Their last words heated. She hadn’t even told him that she loved him.
“And what of the ransom?” Patrik demanded.
The ransom.
As if that mattered now. At the moment she hurt too much to care. Or fear. Hadn’t life already served its worst? What in God’s name was left?
As if that mattered now. At the moment she hurt too much to care. Or fear. Hadn’t life already served its worst? What in God’s name was left?
“She is the sole heir,” Duncan argued, his confident words sliding somewhere through her haze of shattered disbelief.
“Aye,” Seathan agreed. “We will not be denied the ransom.”
“Her steward will be paying without delay,” Patrik added.
A hysterical laugh welled in her throat, but it came out in a gut-wrenching sob. She crumbled to the stone steps. Then came the tears, hot, wet, and released with a savage pain that rose straight from her soul. She hugged her body and rocked herself, keening softly.
At Nichola’s anguished cry, Alexander whirled and spotted her crumpled in a heap by the keep door. A sword’s wrath, she’d heard of her brother’s death!
“Alexander?” Seathan called as Alexander strode toward her.
Alexander gestured to Nichola, and Seathan nodded. He knelt before her and gathered her against his chest. “I am sorry,” Alexander whispered, aching with the intensity of grief she must feel. He hadn’t even known she was outside. If given the opportunity, he would have spared her learning about her brother’s death in this harsh manner.
He glared at his brothers and shook his head when they made to interfere with expressions ranging from disapproval to sympathy. He would see her through this loss. Let them think what they wanted. This had nothing to do about duty to country, but about caring—in the most basic of ways.
She struggled against his hold. “Let me go.” But her demand stumbled out in a ragged whisper.
In reply, he made his way toward the quarried walls of the chapel. He ignored her feeble attempts to struggle free. Thickheaded she would always be, but right now, she needed him. Though she would fight him every step of the way, he would be there for her.
Inside the sacred building, he strode to a roughly hewn bench and sat down with her cradled in his arms. The flicker of candles surrounded them, the air rich with the scent of beeswax tinged with the hint of frankincense and myrrh. The flagstone floor lay swept and scattered with fresh rushes. Each symbol within the holy building offering a degree of hope to all who viewed them. He prayed that along with His presence, they’d bring her a degree of peace.
Alexander held her against him, feeling her each tremor, the wetness of her tears against his neck, and her long, keening cries as though ripped from her soul. He let her weep as tears misted in his eyes, understanding her sorrow too well.
“I am sorry, Nichola.”
She gave a soft hiccup. “He is dead. I ca—cannot believe Griffin is dead.” A shudder racked her body. A muffled sob spilled from her lips.
Then she drew back, her eyes wide, filled with tears and grief. “Ho—How?”
“In a fight,” Alexander replied, omitting that the runner had informed them that the brawl and confrontation had erupted while her brother had been heavily drinking and gaming. She didn’t need to know that. He would leave her with fond memories of her brother’s bravery and pride, not of those of a drunkard.
She shifted on his lap as if to stand, but he held her firm. “Rest easy. It is time you would be needing.”
She tried to push free, her hands unsteady upon his chest. “Let me go,” she said when he didn’t remove his hands.
“Nichola—”
“Release me!”
He stared down at the determination brimming along with the tears in her eyes. Would she always be this stubborn? Yes. And though it was another characteristic of hers that he didn’t always agree with, it was a trait he understood. Alexander lowered his hand.
She stood and slowly turned, taking in her surroundings as if seeing them for the first time, her expression wary and wrung with pain. On a shuddered breath, her lower lip quivered, but she didn’t cry. He watched her battle her tears as a warrior would fend off an oncoming assault. With stature. With pride.
And by her own choice—alone.
A muscle worked in his jaw. He was here for her if she would allow him to help. Could she not see that?
He stood, but she stepped back, her gesture clearly stating her wish for him to keep his distance. When he stepped closer, she hesitated before moving to the stand before the cross. On wobbly knees she knelt, then bowed her head, her whispered prayers, intermixed with sniffs and raw little cries that cut straight to his heart.
Time passed. Slow, thick with grief. The candles gutted; their flame wavering, then flickering out.
Alexander rose and relit new candles.
Yellow flames flickered to life, filling the chapel with warmth. Nichola stood and turned to him, her eyes bright with tears, but her face dry and her expression humbled. Beneath that, determination simmered as well.
She lifted her chin in an arrogant tilt. “I am ready to return to my chamber.”
“Let us go for a walk.” Alexander held out his hand.
She stared at it, the slide of anger in her expression coming hard and fast. “It is because of you!”
“What?” he asked, her accusation throwing him off guard, not liking where this might be heading. “What is because of me?”
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